


Movement

by Daenarii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And now it's time to celebrate! Yay!, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Set post-season 7, The Galra are basically just splinter factions, The Paladins managed to save the Alteans from that random planet Lotor put them on, but i wrote this before season 7 aired, so it's set post-hypothetical season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daenarii/pseuds/Daenarii
Summary: It hasn't been long since the Paladins introduced the Alteans previously hidden by Lotor to the galaxy. Allura and Coran have decided to host a party to truly welcome the Alteans to the universe. Keith prepares for a long, easygoing time of patrols and etiquette training--until a sudden Galra attack sends him and Lance to an unknown planet. With too many questions and a time limit hanging over their heads, the pair will have to somehow find their way back home with only themselves to rely on.





	1. Seven Quintants Left

Keith can’t decide what he hates more: parties or patrol duty. Either way, he supposes it’s just his luck that he has to deal with both at the moment. With the ball that Allura and Coran are _insisting_ on throwing to welcome the Alteans to a (mostly) Galra-free universe comes a need for extra security; nobody wants to see the Alteans extinct again, but there are just enough Galra factions left to be a major threat to their efforts. With a need for extra security comes a need for extra patrols, and that’s why Keith is currently zipping through an asteroid belt, his glazed-over eyes flipping between watching where he’s going and the scanner on Black’s dashboard.

Personally, Keith thinks it’s dumb; now isn’t the time for parties. They still have a threat to worry about, so the parties should wait. Coran and Allura can be terrifyingly stubborn when they set their mind on something, though, so Keith hasn't put up much of a fight.

“My quadrant is clear,” Allura’s clean voice chimes over the comms.

“Same here,” Pidge agrees.

“Mine is cleaner than Lance’s three plates after a patrol mission,” Hunk reports.

“Hey!” Lance cuts in quickly. “I just have a healthy appetite! It’s normal!”

Keith can’t help but snort and say, “I don’t think having three servings of food goo is ‘normal.’”

“I don’t need lectures about being normal from _you_ , Mullet,” Lance fires back. “I can’t _believe_ you didn’t cut your hair while you were on vacation!”

“It wasn’t a vacation, Lance,” Keith says.

He intends to continue, but Lance cuts in with, “You got a dog!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he says, “I’m almost done with my quadrant. Lance?”

“I’m almost done, too,” Lance says, a pout apparent in his voice.

“Aw, is someone sad that he didn’t beat Keith, too?” Hunk teases.

“I can still beat him!” Lance shoots back, suddenly riled up. Honestly, Keith is a little impressed at how quickly he can switch his mannerisms.

“Should we come help you two out?” Pidge asks. “You both got the biggest quadrants.”

“You guys can head back to the ship,” Keith says, gaze scanning through the inky blackness ahead of him. “Lance and I should be done in a few doboshes.”

“Alright!” Allura says, voice far too perky. “Job well done, everyone!”

“ _Someone’s_ excited to get back to party-planning,” Pidge laughs.

“The _ball_ ,” Allura stresses, “is in only one movement! There’s still much to do, and nowhere near enough time to do it.”

“Relax, Princess,” Lance drawls. “We’ve done the impossible at _least_ four times by now. We can plan a party.”

Keith feels a spike of anger--not his own, but from the Lions’ bond. “And what have _you_ done besides flirt with our guests, Lance?” Allura snaps.

“Whoa, Allura,” Hunk says. “Chill out. Lance doesn’t do a lot, sure, but he’s right; we’re here to help.”

“I do a lot!” Lance protests.

Allura ignores him with a sigh. “You’re right, Hunk,” she says. “Lance, I apologize. I’m simply--”

She immediately goes quiet, and Keith feels the warm anger from her part of the bond fading away. “Allura?” he asks, glancing at his scanner with a frown. This doesn’t feel right, but he’s the only little dot on the scanner--what could be the issue?

“I’m not reading them anymore,” Lance says, and Keith jumps a little at his voice. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Do you think the asteroid field is interfering?”

“Maybe?” Lance replies. “They sounded fine up until a tick a--ack!” Lance cuts off with a shout.

“Lance?” Keith asks, quickly whirling his lion around to head towards where Lance is. “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s got me,” Lance says, voice strained. “I can’t move. Come on, Red, just a little more--!”

“I’m on my way,” Keith says, pushing harder against Black’s movement controls. “Just hang on a little longer, Lance.” He’s close enough to see Lance’s dot on the scanner, now, and his own dot hurtling towards it.

“I don’t know if I really have a say in that,” Lance struggles to get out. “Ugh, Red, come _on_!”

It only takes Keith a few more ticks for Lance to come into view. There’s a purple, spiky-looking ship hovering just above the Red Lion--Galra. It’s projecting a sort of tractor beam out towards Lance, pulling him towards it.

Keith doesn’t slow down as he approaches. Instead, he speeds up, aiming straight for Lance. “Hang on, Lance!” he shouts, shoving his controls forward.

“What are you doi--?!” Lance shouts back, but he cuts off as Keith’s Lion suddenly slams into his, pushing him out of the tractor beam.

Keith isn’t stupid. He’d been betting on Black being too large for the tractor beam; when he feels himself jerk back, however, his stomach drops in horror. “Oh, quiznak.” He can feel the hum of the tractor beam rattling through his very core, keeping himself mostly stationary, too, as he’s helplessly tugged towards the Galra ship.

“Did you just get caught in the tractor beam?!” Lance demands, Lion already heading for the Galra ship. “What did you think would happen, stupid?”

“Just shut up and take care of that ship,” Keith growls, a warm flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as he watches the streak of crimson that is Lance, zooming towards the Galra ship.

The Galra ship, however, has friends; two fighter jets fly out from behind it, already firing lasers at Lance’s Lion. Lance immediately swerves to the side to avoid them, but one laser does manage to hit him.

“Quiznak!” Lance shouts. A blue holographic screen pops up on Keith’s left, showing Lance’s grimacing profile. “Where did _they_ come from?!”

Keith glances at his scanner with a frown. It still only has two dots on it--his and Lance’s. “I don’t know,” he says, struggling to move his mouth. “I can’t see them on my scanner. They must have some kind of cloaking device.”

“And scrambling device, for our communications,” Lance says, deftly twisting his Lion out of the way of more lasers. “I can’t get to the ship--these guys are too hot on my tail!”

“Maybe just _shoot_ at the ship?” Keith suggests. “I can’t do _anything_ in this beam.”

“On it!” Lance says. He zooms out a ways, the fighter jets hot on his trail, before he flips his Lion upside down, the tail jutting forward to shoot a thin, icy-blue laser at the Galra ship. The laser blasts into the Galra ship near the output for the tractor beam, which falters and fails.

“Yeees!” Lance crows loudly. “Sharpshooter Lance, at your service!”

When Keith glances at him on the screen, Lance has a big grin on his face. “Don’t get cocky,” Keith says, unable to resist a small smile of his own. “We’ve still got enemies here.” He quickly moves Black forward, away from the reach of the Galra ship’s tractor beam.

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Lance says, twirling to avoid some more lasers. “What’s the plan? Lead these goons back to the others, and kick their ugly purple butts Voltron-style?”

“No,” Keith says, mind racing. “We can’t let them any closer to the Alteans than they already are. We can handle this ourselves.”

“Are you sure?” Lance asks. “I don’t like the way that ship is glowing!”

“What?” Keith asks, turning his Lion around. Once the Galra ship is in view again, he sees what Lance is talking about--the Galra ship is amassing a purple glowing ball of energy in front of it. It’s aimed out into space, though, so Keith isn’t sure whether to be worried or relieved. “What are they doing?”

“I don’t know, Keith! Maybe we should ask them!” Lance shouts, diving under the fighter jets. “Hey, Galra! Mind explaining to us what your plan is, in detail?!”

Keith rolls his eyes, pushing Black towards the Galra ship. “Just keep those fighter jets busy while I try to take out the ship!”

Keith presses a button in the console to shoot Black’s tail laser, but as soon as it fires--blasting solidly into the ship’s side, but not doing much damage other than a dent and a small fire--the ship manages to shoot whatever it was charging. Keith is ready for a large, weaponized beam, but instead, a purple wormhole opens up in front of the ship. Keith grits his teeth as he goes rigid again, Black being tugged against both their wills towards the wormhole.

“Hey, do you think they’re running away?” Lance asks, hope in his voice. “What chickens!”

“Can’t you feel the wormhole pulling you inside?” Keith grits out, trying to pull Black’s movement bars back. He realizes when he glances down at the scanner that Lance is far enough to perhaps be out of range of the wormhole’s gravitational pull.

“What?” Lance asks, probably still twisting with the fighter jets on his tail. “It’s _what_?”

“It’s pulling me inside,” Keith says, voice strained. The only thing he can see out of Black’s eyes is the looming expanse of the wormhole in front of him, shimmering with violet quintessence and distant starlight. “Go get the others, before these Galra can attack the Alteans, and--”

“And leave you behind?!” Lance shouts. “No way!”

“Lance--”

“Coming through!” Lance says.

Keith watches Lance’s dot on the scanner hurtling towards him, but as he grows closer to the gaping maw of the wormhole, his scanner fizzles out. Before he can say anything, Lance says, “Oh, quiznak!”

“What?” Keith asks. “What?!”

“I can’t slow down!” Lance says. “Incomi--!”

He cuts off, and Keith immediately feels something slam into the back end of his Lion. He suddenly jerks forward, out of his seat. He slams his chin against the console as Black finally flies into the wormhole, and he can almost hear Shiro’s smug _this is why seatbelts are available, Keith_.

The trip through the wormhole isn’t as easy as the rides the Castle had provided. Almost immediately, Black is shaking, throwing Keith around the cockpit. When he can catch glances out of Black’s eyes, he can only see lilac running through the stars he’s streaking past. Alarms loudly blare, a red light flashing, until everything goes dark. Moments afterwards, the ride ends, Keith slamming into a wall and sliding to the floor.

He groans, everything aching. There’s no permanent damage, though he does have to take a few seconds to let his pain die down before he pushes himself to his feet.

“Lance?” he asks, voice rough as he makes his way to the console. “Can you hear me, buddy?”

Silence. Keith sits in the seat again, but Black doesn’t purr or wake up. Keith frowns, running his hand over the console. “Black?” he asks, glancing around. “Are you there?”

Nothing. And he can’t even see where he _is_ , as Black’s eyes show only darkness. Keith sighs, standing up and walking to the back of the cockpit. He has to know if Lance is okay--and where they ended up, of course.

Keith walks down the hallway to the set of double-doors in the Lion’s chest. Once the doors open, he stares. It’s full of sand. He can’t get through. He sighs, closing the doors and grumbling as he steps back to the cockpit and onto the pilot’s seat, pressing a hand to the side of the hatch on the ceiling to open it up. He sighs in relief when he sees a clear blue sky. He climbs out of the hatch, immediately feeling like he’s swimming through molten lava--it’s so _hot_.

Once he’s standing on top of his Lion’s head, he looks around to survey...everything. He has to squint his eyes against the harsh sunlight bouncing off of the golden-white sand that stretches endlessly in every direction. Sweat already prickles at the back of his neck, and his Lion is half-submerged in sand. The cockpit hatch is only barely above ground level.

Keith feels relief flood his shoulders once he sees the Red Lion nearby, sticking vertically, tail end up, out of the sand. He lets out a huff as he starts his way over. The heat is debilitating, already making him feel as if he’s walked ten miles. He has to pull off his helmet halfway there, his hair already sticking to his skin.

“Lance!” Keith calls through a sore throat once he’s under the lukewarm shadow of the Lion.

Nothing stirs. Keith huffs, stepping to the set of double-doors that’s in the Lion’s chest--ground-level exactly (though upside-down), thanks to its position. He presses his palm to the side of the doors, watching them slide open. He sticks his head in, looking downwards, into a long tunnel to the lion’s head.

“Lance?” he shouts again, voice bouncing around the metal interior.

Nobody responds. Keith presses his lips together, his shoulders tensing again. He steps inside, using the thrusters on the back of his suit to slow his fall until he gently lands on what should be the ceiling at the end of the hall. It’s pitch-black down here--he has to turn the light on his helmet on, or risk running into the doors to the cockpit.

Keith opens the doors and calls again, “Lance.”

There’s a quiet groan. Keith snaps his gaze to where it originated from, and sighs in relief when he sees Lance, crumpled on the floor--ceiling?--with his legs falling from the wall.

“Everything hurts,” Lance grumbles, slumping over so that he’s lying on his side instead of half on his back.

“Can you move?” Keith asks, trying not to focus on the worry in his chest.

“Gimme a tick and I can,” Lance says. “Where are we?”

“I don't know,” Keith replies. “Some desert. Your Lion’s upside-down in some sand.”

“Great,” Lance huffs, pushing himself to his feet. “What a fantastic situation.”

Once he sees Lance on his feet, Keith’s worry thaws to anger. “Nobody asked you to throw yourself into the wormhole,” he bites, marching his way out of the cockpit. “I _told_ you to go get the others.”

“Oh, and leave you to fend for yourself?” Lance shoots back, following after Keith. “Come _on_ , Keith. We’re a team!”

“And now instead of just one Lion, the Galra have taken out two,” Keith snaps, using his jetpack thrusters to start ascending up to the double-doors. “ _Great_ plan, Lance, really!”

“Either way, we wouldn’t be able to form Voltron!” Lance says, voice bouncing around Keith. “At least this way, you have a chance of getting back! We _both_ do.”

“I would’ve gotten back _fine_ ,” Keith growls, stepping onto the sand. He squints against the bright sunlight’s reflection again, whirling around to face Lance. “But here I am, stuck with _you_ , of all people!” He throws his hands up.

“I’m not any more happy about this than you are,” Lance shoots back, but there’s less fire in his voice. The heat must be sapping his energy for the argument--truthfully, it’s draining Keith’s, too. Lance immediately takes his helmet off, holding it under one arm as he looks around. “...I don’t see anything.”

“Me neither,” Keith grumbles. He sighs, looking out to the horizon, trying to reason to himself. “But there _has_ to be something here,” he says.

“Why?” Lance asks. “Wouldn’t it be in the Galra’s best interests to let us wither away somewhere?” He sits cross-legged in the sand.

“Sure, maybe _us_ ,” Keith says. “But the Lions? Our bayards? They could use those. Why would the Galra send those to a random planet, too?”

“I don’t know,” Lance says. “Maybe Zarkon was the only Galra obsessed with Voltron.”

“Evil Galra are obsessed with power,” Keith says, “and Voltron _is_ power.” He starts to walk. “They wouldn’t have sent us to a random desert planet.”

“Hey--where are you going?!” Lance asks, scrambling to his feet to follow after Keith.

“To look,” Keith says, peering around Lance’s Lion. He squints against the waves of heat rising from the ground--there’s a smudge of darkness in the distance, but it could just be the heat playing tricks on his eyes. “Do you see that?”

“See what?” Lance asks. Once he comes around the side of his Lion, he says, “Oh. Uh, yeah, actually. What is it?”

“No clue,” Keith says. “We should check it out.”

“What?!” Lance squawks. “Why?”

“Our Lions are down,” Keith says, looking at Lance with a frown. “We’re not getting off this planet unless we look around, and that could be civilization.”

“Or it could be Galra,” Lance says. “Weren’t you just saying they must have something here? That could be them! And our Lions may just need a minute to, uh, nap!”

Keith glances at Black. He wants to cross his arms, but he’s still holding his helmet. His hair is plastered to his forehead (and his neck), and he feels like he’s swimming in sweat under his suit. Part of him agrees with Lance; walking into an ambush isn’t a great plan, and the Lions have _always_ woken up from this sort of thing before, but...something feels different. Keith just feels something _wrong_ about this situation.

He gnaws on his bottom lip until he looks back at Lance. “Okay,” he finally says.

Lance blinks. “Okay?” he asks. “You’re--you’re agreeing with me?”

“We can sleep for a little bit,” Keith says, ignoring Lance, “to give the Lions time to wake up, and since it’s almost bedtime anyway--but if we wake up and the Lions are still down, we should check out whatever’s over there.”

“And if it’s Galra?” Lance asks. “What then? Ask them nicely to spare our lives?”

“We’re still Paladins,” Keith says, “even without our Lions. We can still kick some Galra butt if we have to.”

Lance hesitates before he nods, a playful smirk crossing his face. “I bet I can beat more than you.”

Keith rolls his eyes, making his way to Black. “I don’t think so,” he says, a smile tugging at his own mouth, “but we’ll see.”

“I _so_ can!” Lance says, jogging to catch up to Keith. “But, uh--” He looks away, a bashful expression suddenly coming across his face. “Can I bunk with you? I’d rather not keep flying up and down Red’s throat.”

Keith glances at Lance, reaching up to wipe some hair out of his face. “Sure,” he says. “Just make sure to stay on _your_ side of the cockpit.”

“What? Afraid I’m gonna poison you before our little competition?” Lance asks, teasing grin on his face.

Keith rolls his eyes, though he has to (unsuccessfully) force down a playful smile. “You won’t win otherwise.”

“I could win in my sleep!” Lance defends.

“Doesn’t a sharpshooter need to keep his eyes open to actually sharp shoot?” Keith asks, side-eying Lance.

“I have so many other skills than just sharpshooting,” Lance says.

Keith snorts. “Sure,” he says. “List _five_.”

As Lance starts to name some of his best skills (the first one he recalls is “being able to shoot a paper ball into a basket from across my bedroom,” if that gives any indication of what kind of skills they are), Keith can’t help but feel a niggling doubt in his chest.

There has to be more to this.


	2. Six Quintants Left

Keith hates sleeping while in the field. Even on the Castle, he can only barely get any sleep, and that’s a place that feels more like home than anywhere he’s been in a long time. A remote planet in the middle of an unknown galaxy with two broken Lions and heat suffusing everything is far from the comforts that Keith has at the Castle.

That’s why he’s surprised when he actually _does_ fall asleep. Once he strips his Paladin armor, wearing only his T-shirt and pants (and socks and shoes, just in case), he finds that it’s not so bad. And for some reason, focusing on Lance’s deep breathing on the other couch in the cabin is enough to lull Keith to relax just a little--which is apparently enough to get him to knock out.

When Keith wakes up, he’s curled up on his side, facing the wall. His eyelids feel heavy, and when he tries to roll over, he winces with the sharp pain of a crick in his neck. That’ll be annoying.

As he’s sitting up, his gaze lands on Lance. He’s sprawled out on the couch, one arm thrown over his face, the other over his stomach, and one foot on the ground. His shirt is pushed up, revealing a strip of his trim, bronze stomach, and for a moment, Keith catches himself watching it in wonder as it expands and contracts.

Keith shakes his head, vaulting to his feet and rigidly moving over to the console. He forces his mind to focus on the matter at hand instead of how _good_ Lance’s stomach had--no, focus. Keith runs his hands down Black’s console as he sits in the pilot’s seat, but the Lion doesn’t purr to life. It stays completely silent. Keith can’t even feel the warmth of their bond.

Keith tries to swallow the fear rising in his throat. It’s been a long time since he hasn’t felt at least the pull of a Lion, the comforting presence at the back of his head at the very _least_. Even during his two years with Krolia, he’d always been able to feel his bond with one of the Lions, if he only concentrated a little bit. But this? This silence? It’s unsettling. He doesn’t like it.

Keith tries to pull himself back from the panic, to focus on the concrete facts. If Black isn’t online yet, then neither is Red, and they won’t be able to get off this planet anytime soon. The quicker they can find some civilization, the sooner they’ll be able to try and figure out a way back to the other Paladins.

“Lance,” Keith says, voice hoarse, as he stands. He clears his throat, walking back to the couches. “Lance.”

Lance only groans, rolling over on the couch to face the wall instead.

Keith sighs, crossing his arms as he looks down at Lance. “Wake up. We have to go.”

“Five more minutes,” Lance begs, not moving from his position.

“No,” Keith says, moving to his armor to start pulling it on. “Now. The Lions are still offline--we have to move.”

Lance heaves a sigh. While Keith pulls on his chestpiece, he glances back at Lance, who’s slowly melting off the couch. “How were you so comfortable on that thing?” Keith can’t help but ask. “It’s so small.”

“What do you mean, small?” Lance asks, dragging his feet to his own pile of armor. “Your couches are bigger than Red’s.”

“...Oh.” Keith frowns down at his arm as he fixes his gauntlet. He _is_ taller than Lance, but he isn’t about to bring it up; the last time he did, Lance pouted for a full two hours. They don’t have time for that now.

Keith is ready in a few seconds, but Lance is constantly pausing as he pulls on his armor, talking about some dream he had--something about back at the Garrison, and having a flight exam but showing up late and he was naked, or something. At least, Keith _hopes_ it was a dream.

When they finally step out of the Lion’s head, it’s still blistering hot outside. Keith immediately regrets wearing his armor. He wants to climb back into his Lion and take a cat nap, but he forces himself to jump down onto the sand.

“Couldn’t they have sent us to a better planet?” Lance asks, following behind Keith. “Like, I don’t know, somewhere tropical, or something? This heat blows.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, pulling off his helmet already and holding it limply at his side. “At least we don’t have to deal with any more party-planning.”

Lance snorts. “You’ve got that right,” he says. “I was goin’ crazy with how much Allura is doing, and I’m not even her.”

Keith glances back at Lance. He’s taken his helmet off as well, his mahogany hair sticking to his forehead. “I thought you liked all the party stuff,” Keith says. “All the new people to flirt with.” The words taste bitter, but he doesn’t consider them before he throws them out.

“I mean, _that_ part is fun, don’t get me wrong,” Lance says, “but I’d much rather be walking through this desert with you than dealing with knowing which spoon to use first.”

“You just have to start on the outside and work your way in,” Keith says, trying to slam a cage door on the flutter in his heart the words bring.

“Yeah, I tried that, but Pidge starts on the inside and--”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Pidge doesn’t know which spoon to use, either. Don’t try cheating off of them.”

“Okay,” Lance says. “Then I’ll just watch you, since you obviously know everything about utensil etiquette.”

“Is the heat getting to your head?” Keith asks, glancing back at Lance with only a little concern. “I thought you would’ve rather died than admit you don’t know how to do something.”

“Hey, spoons just aren’t important,” Lance defends. “I can admit _that_.”

“Hunk would have your head if he heard you say that.”

“Look, it was _one_ time that I ate without a spoon, and that was because they were all dirty!” Lance says.

“Because it was your turn to do the dishes,” Keith replies. He can feel a grin tugging at his mouth despite the sweltering heat.

“Okay, I admit, I was a _little_ late on doing the dishes, because I was tired and we had just fought Zarkon and--”

“You just have to press a button, Lance.”

They continue trading banter like that for a long while as they make their way to the structures in the distance. Keith is relieved to see that they aren’t just a mirage. About halfway there, he and Lance lapse into silence, too fatigued with the sun--suns? There are definitely two suns--beating down on them. At least, that’s Keith’s excuse; Lance somehow finds his way in front of Keith even with the heat.

As they approach, it becomes easier to see what exactly they’re walking towards. It seems to be some sort of ghost town; there are buildings that are half-torn down, tumbleweed, and--Keith confirms once they’re close enough--a well, smack dab in the center. The town seems entirely empty.

Lance is going to walk right in, but Keith reaches forward to hold him back with a hand on his arm. “What’s up?” Lance asks, looking back at Keith. “Didn’t we come here to look around?”

Keith looks around the buildings with a deep frown. “Why would they have sent us next to an abandoned town?” he asks quietly. “There’s gotta be someone here. Keep an eye out.”

Lance nods, but he adopts a grin. “If you wanted to watch my back, Keith, you just had to say so.”

Keith feels his cheeks warm from something other than the sun, and he thanks his lucky stars that Lance turns around before he can see the flush. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Keith grumbles, pointedly _not_ looking at Lance as he firmly pulls his helmet on.

Lance probably didn’t hear it, because he doesn’t respond. That’s fine by Keith--he’s too busy focusing on the buildings around them. Windows are smashed out, curtains are tattered, doors are blown wide open, and there isn’t a sound outside of Keith and Lance’s footfalls. Lance has his gun in his hand, ready to shoot, and Keith is gripping his Bayard probably a little too tightly.

“It’s too quiet,” Keith murmurs.

“I don’t think you could’ve picked a more cliche line if you tried,” Lance whispers back, sweeping his gun in an arc in front of him as he looks around.

Once they reach the well in the middle of town, they stop. “You know,” Lance says, lowering his gun a little, “I think we might be in the clear.”

Keith lets out an unconvinced hum, still looking around. If there’s nobody here, then that means the Galra _did_ send them to a random planet for no reason. That doesn’t make any sense--they would’ve wanted a plan to make sure that he and Lance are out of commission, and don’t mess up any of their future plans. Why would they just--

Keith sees something out of the corner of his eye, and he whips around to look at it: a Galra soldier, headed straight for Lance. Keith doesn’t bother to say anything, lunging forward to push Lance out of the way and bring his sword up to slice at the soldier.

“Whoa--thanks!” Lance says. Keith doesn’t bother to watch him, instead focusing on the soldier. They aren’t holding a weapon--just something small in their hand. They stare Keith down before lunging forward. Keith brings his sword up to knock their hand aside again, feeling his back press against Lance’s as he moves back.

“Uh, Keith?” Lance says unsurely as the sound of firing lasers fill Keith’s ears. He glances around, and falters for a second.

They’re surrounded. Well, mostly surrounded--there are only ten or so other Galra (excluding the soldier he’s fighting right now), but it’s still a lot for the two of them to handle.

“Plan?” Lance asks a little frantically as Keith deflects another lunge from the Galra in front of him.

Keith looks around for inspiration, and it immediately hits him once his gaze lands on a mostly-intact house, with an open doorway and a long window.

“Eight-o’clock,” Keith says, parrying another swipe from the Galra in front of him. “Get inside, beat up anyone who tries to follow.”

“Got it,” Lance says, his shoulder pressing against Keith’s. “Lead the way; I’ll cover you.”

Keith nods. He waits a few beats before he sweeps his foot under the Galra soldier’s, sending them sprawling. “Go!” he shouts, immediately pounding across the sand for the house.

He only manages to make it halfway there before he hears Lance shout wordlessly. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees Lance on the ground, his Bayard a few inches out of his reach. The Galra that Keith had been fighting, still on the ground, has their hands around Lance’s ankle, and they firmly press a small disc to his calf.

Keith whirls around, ready to go help Lance. Before he can get there, however, the disc on Lance’s calf gives a bright blue glow, exploding and swallowing Lance in a shimmery, sapphire light. Lance’s shout echoes long after the small explosion, and the only thing left is Lance’s Bayard.

“Lance!” Keith screams, _something_ clawing at his throat. Ringing fills his ears as he stares at Lance’s Bayard, laying innocently on the ground. He can still see Lance’s imprint in the sand if he focuses hard enough--which he does, searching for Lance, for any remaining part of him. But he’s gone--blown up? Dead?

It doesn’t matter, Keith decides as the panic is quickly burned away by rage. Any semblance of a plan flies out of his head as he rushes toward the soldier that exploded Lance, snarling loudly and brandishing his sword.

The soldier leaps nimbly to their feet, lifting violet lips in a snarl. Keith finds himself mirroring it, and before he can think of a strategy, he’s slashing at the soldier. They keep jumping back, dodging his blows, and it’s just making him angrier and _angrier_. He’s going to kill this damn Galra if it’s the last thing he does--for Lance.

The Galra soldier is backing up towards the ring of Galra around them, but Keith doesn’t focus on that. Instead, he focuses on giving this Galra no quarter, no rest, as dark anger pumps through his veins. Once the Galra feels their kin at their back, they shout to someone behind Keith (in Galra, of course--he’s too furious to translate).

It’s all the chance he needs to drive his sword through the Galra’s gut and rip it out in two fluid motions. The Galra lets out a _hrk!_ as they stumble back, gloved hands immediately flying to the blooming stain over their stomach. Their comrades step in front of them, forming a barrier, but Keith’s blind fury starts to drip away at the sight of blood.

Keith hears a scuff on the sand behind him, and he whirls around, lashing out with his sword. The Galra behind him leaps back just in the nick of time, the tip of Keith’s sword only managing to scratch their breastplate. Something small and silver glints in the palm of their hand, and Keith sets his jaw. It’s another one of those discs.

Keith doesn’t know why or when he decides to make this as hard for the Galra as he can, but he does. He lashes out at any one that gets too close, a snarl on his face and a wild gleam in his eyes. He knows it’s hopeless--there are simply too many--but he has his back to a wall, legs shaking in fatigue, holding his Bayard with both hands, before he starts to lose the will to fight.

He knows he should keep going, should at least try to escape-- _the others need to know about Lance_ \--but he’s only been able to hurt several Galra, and incapacitate even less. He _knew_ they’d been planning something. Something in his heart gives a painful tug as he realizes he won’t get to tell Lance “I told you so.”

A Galra gets closer to Keith, and he swings down at them tiredly, the snarl a permanent fixture on his face. Another Galra at his side darts in, though, and he feels them slap a hand against his side, just below his armpit, before they quickly dance back.

Keith hears a quick, high-pitched beeping noise coming from the disc attached to him. He growls out at the Galra, staring them all in the eyes defiantly, but can’t find the energy for any memorable last words.

One of the Galra hiss something harshly in response, but it’s then that Keith sees a blue glow come from his side. He closes his eyes, trying to brace himself for the pain that must come when someone is blown up.

It never comes. There’s a bright flash around him, and suddenly, he feels like there’s a freight truck ramming against him (without all the broken bones). Keith staggers, opening his eyes as he falls to a knee, looking around him.

He can see white and gray. There’s snow beneath him, and large snowflakes streaking past, riding a swift wind--which must be what knocked him down. The sky is covered in dark gray clouds, and Keith can already feel a chill, even through his armor. The cloth suit under his armor is already starting to soak through from the snow he’s kneeling in.

Keith had thought that Hell would be a little...warmer. Once he tries to stand on his jelly-like legs, however, he realizes that he can’t be dead. His arms are aching, and he’s still breathing heavily, and the cold bites at his fingertips even through his suit, and his eyelids keep drooping with fatigue. But how? He’d had a bomb stuck on him.

Unless they hadn’t been bombs at all. Unless they’d been teleportation devices. When had the Galra gotten teleportation devices, though? In all his time in space, the only thing close to teleporting that Keith had seen was his wolf, and wormholes. As far as Keith knows, his wolf is the only one in the universe that can teleport, and wormholes require far too much hardware to be able to fit in a compact little disc. And--

 _Lance might still be alive._ Keith tries to ignore the hope crushing his heart in relief, wrapping his arms around himself as he starts to trudge forward, through the snow. He can’t stay out in this blizzard, or else he _will_ wind up dead. He can only hope that Lance got teleported to that tropical climate he wanted, instead of this wasteland.

Every step has Keith’s foot crunching knee-deep into snow. After only a few steps, his feet are thoroughly soaked, but he keeps going. He has to. Now that he knows Lance could still be alive--well, he instantly backpedals in his head, Lance will need help getting back to the others, of course. It’s not that Keith is worried or anything. Or just wants to see Lance again. Or knows that Lance’s jokes would somehow keep him a little warmer.

Keith doesn’t know how long he walks, but he does know that he needs to find shelter _soon_. He can’t feel his nose or fingers, and he’s pretty sure the interior of his helmet is beginning to frost over. Besides that, he’s utterly exhausted--that fight with the Galra must have taken more out of him than he’d thought. He’s tempted to just curl up in a snowbank and hope that he wakes up.

Part of him feels a pang of concern for Lance, who might be in this mess as well, and then himself, in case he won’t be able to find shelter. Would anyone look for them? Who would find them? Who would tell Shiro? An image of Shiro cradling Keith’s frozen body pops in his head, and he forces the thoughts out of his mind.

Luckily, he finally sees a silhouette looming ahead of him, black against dark gray. Once he gets closer, he realizes it’s a mountain. And as he approaches, he notices a large cave at the base. He can’t believe his luck. He’s almost too afraid to approach it, worried that it’ll just disappear in a puff of smoke.

It doesn’t, though. Once Keith steps inside, he immediately feels warmer, the icy wind no longer blasting against him. There’s an ominous howl coming from the mouth of the cave thanks to the wind, but honestly, Keith doesn’t mind. He doesn’t want silence right now. The cave goes on for a while, if the way it fades to pitch-black darkness is any indication. He sits on a rock near the mouth of it, on the edge of the dim light from outside.

Simply hiding from the wind isn’t enough to warm Keith up, though. It helps, but he notices his still-chattering teeth before long. He gets up, looking for--he isn’t sure. He finds it, though, in the form of wooden sticks strewn around the room. Leftovers from old stocks of firewood, maybe? Whatever brought them there, Keith gladly piles them up. He grabs a fist-sized rock and pulls out his knife (from the Blade of Marmora, squeezed in one boot), striking them against one another just over the wood.

He remembers the first time he really had to do this on an alien planet. He’d been with his mother; she’d been appalled he didn’t know how to start a fire with a knife. Keith had made campfires before, of course, but he’d always needed flint or something. With his knife, he can do it with just any old rock. Something about how the knife is made--he hadn’t really listened, to be quite frank. She’d used a lot of words that’d gone over his head.

Before long, Keith has a decently-sized campfire going. He sighs in relief as the flames thaw his limbs. He hugs his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them, as he sits right next to the fire.

He wants to sleep. He knows he has to wait for the storm to stop before he can do _anything_ , and sleeping will make that end come faster. But he can’t. His eyelids snap wide open as soon as he tries shutting them for good. He can’t stop tapping one finger against his shin. His front is too warm and his back isn’t warm enough. Even if he flips around, it doesn’t help.

He’s antsy. He’s worried. He’s scared. He’s trying not to be, but it isn’t quite working. Every sound makes him jump--a particularly loud pop of flames over wood, or a louder gust than the rest. He tries to anticipate the sounds, but he can never quite get it right.

When Keith hears something slam against a rock, though, he jumps to his feet, knife in hand. “Who’s there?!” he shouts, squinting into the blizzard beyond the mouth of the cave.

A silhouette staggers into view then--tall, lanky, arms wrapped around themself. “K-Keith?” a voice stutters out, and Keith feels his heart clench. “Is th-that you, b-b-buddy?”

“Lance!” Keith says, dropping his knife as he rushes over. His heart leaps with joy, but freezes in his chest once he realizes Lance doesn’t look great. He’s barely able to shuffle his feet forward, and his arms seem to be frozen around his midsection. His helmet is almost entirely frosted over. Keith doesn’t hesitate before he pulls it off, inspecting Lance closely.

His nose and ears are red, and his teeth are chattering loud as birds. His gaze seems unfocused, hazy, glassy. Keith has to take him by the shoulder before he starts walking to the fire. “Am-m I g-g-glad t-to see you,” Lance stammers out.

“You must be worse than I thought,” Keith mutters, trying to shove his heart back down. As Lance shuffles towards the fire, Keith starts to pull off pieces of his armor.

“Whoa!” Lance says, trying to move away from Keith’s hands. “W-what--”

“I’m taking off your armor,” Keith explains, forcing himself to be patient. “I have my jacket on under mine, so I’m gonna put that on you, and then we’re gonna--” His throat closes up before he can finish it, but the blush on his face is enough to say it.

“S-s-seriously?” Lance asks, standing next to the fire. The flames turn his eyes golden-gray as he stares at Keith. “Th-that’s your p-p-plan?”

“You need to get warm,” Keith defends. “Are you gonna let me help or not?”

Lance hesitates, conflict obvious in his face before he sighs. “Ok-kay. B-but I can t-t-take m-my own armor off!”

Keith steps back, hands raised in surrender. Lance frowns at him for another second before starting to pull off his armor. Keith follows suit; since his limbs are already warm, he manages to get everything but his jumpsuit, jacket, and boots off first.

He pulls off his jacket, waiting patiently for Lance to finish taking off his armor. Lance struggles with the hooks on his breastplate, so to keep himself from going to help Lance, Keith asks, “Did you come across anyone out here?”

Lance shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “J-just snow.” His stuttering is improving a little, but not by much.

“Good,” Keith breathes. If Lance didn’t see any Galra, they’re probably as scared of the blizzard as he is. Before he can stop himself, he blurts, “I’m glad you’re fine.”

His face flushes, but luckily, Lance’s back is turned as he keeps twisting to try and unhook his shoulderpad. “Th-this is f-f-fine to you?” Lance asks. “I’m al-almost a L-Lancesicle!”

“You know what I mean,” Keith hurries to defend. “I mean--you blew up, Lance.” His voice is quieter than he wants it to be, more scared than he wants to let on.

Lance stills for a moment before he finally manages to pop off his shoulderpad. “...Yeah,” he finally says, before he turns to give Keith a smile (that melts whatever chill was left on him). “B-but I’m okay! N-now g-give me your jack-ket.” He holds his hand out, clad only in his black jumpsuit.

Keith nods belatedly, handing Lance the red jacket. It’s really worn by now, but it’s still the warmest piece of clothing Keith has at the moment.

And--hell, Lance looks good in it. It hangs loosely around his arms and shoulders, and he pulls it tightly closed, wrapping his arms around himself again. “Th-thanks,” he says, his back facing the fire. His eyes are shadowed, but Keith can see he’s more lucid, more aware.

“No problem,” Keith says, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He holds his arms out, palm-out, as he asks, “...So?”

“S-so...what?” Lance asks. There’s a streak of awkward in his voice that tells Keith he knows _exactly_ what.

“You know _exactly_ what,” Keith says, eloquently. “Um, sit down, and I can--”

“S-seriously?” Lance asks, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. “I’m f-f--”

“If you say you’re fine, I’ll suplex you so hard,” Keith says. “You’re still stuttering.”

“But I--”

“And you just called yourself a Lancesicle like, ten seconds ago.” Keith reaches up to run a hand through his hair once he catches Lance shivering again. His bangs flop back into place as he says, “Look, I know it’s awkward as shit, but it’s not super warm in this cave, and you need heat.”

Lance hesitates, staring at Keith, before his teeth glint in a grin. “W-wow,” he says. “Is th-that c-c- _concern_ I hear? F-from the m-m-mighty K-Keith?”

“What does _that_ mean?” Keith asks. “I’m worried a lot! And even if I wasn’t, you could be dying, Lance!”

“And the t-team calls m-m- _me_ the dram-matic one?” Lance asks. He turns his back to Keith, facing the fire, as he sits down, legs crossed.

“I’m not dramatic,” Keith grumbles, crossing his arms. “If you don’t want me to help, just say so.”

“D-do _you_ wanna help?” Lance turns the question on Keith, looking over his shoulder at him.

“Well--well _duh_ ,” Keith says, having to force down a blush for some reason. “You think I’m gonna let you freeze? What reason would I even have for that?”

“You d-don’t like t-t-touching people, right-t?” Lance says, as if it should be simple. “I’ll b-be okay if you don’t r-r-really wanna.”

“That’s not tr--” Keith stops, blinking in surprise, as the weight of Lance’s words really sink in.

He hadn’t thought _Lance_ out of everyone would notice--but the fact that he did makes Keith’s heart slam happily against his ribcage. It’s not that Keith hates physical contact, but...he’s the last one to shake someone’s hand on diplomatic missions. He always wipes his hand after doing that--a habit he’s been trying to kick for a while. He usually ducks into some kind of closet to hide when the tailors are making their rounds. Had Lance really noticed all of that?

“...It’s a little true,” Keith concedes in a grumble. “But I’m _offering_ , Lance.”

“I’m n-not saying n-n-no,” Lance says, still looking over his shoulder at Keith. He can see the faint curved shadow of a smile on Lance’s face. “J-just wanted t-t-to make sure.”

Keith huffs, stepping closer to Lance. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” he grumbles, if only to try and ignore the heat crawling up his neck as he sits down behind Lance.

“I d-do not!” Lance squawks indignantly, back straightening. “I was b-being c-c- _considerate_.”

Keith doesn’t respond, pursing his lips in thought as he holds both arms to the side, glancing between them and Lance’s back. He hasn’t done this before. Does he just--wrap them around him? What if they’re too low or something? And what does he do with his legs? “...Uhhh,” Keith quietly says, brow furrowed as he plans his movements to minimize awkwardness.

“S-second thoughts?” Lance asks.

“No,” Keith says, frown deepening. “Just, uh...gimme a sec to figure this out.”

“F-figure this--” Lance cuts off, shaking his head. “It’s n-not rock-cket science, K-Keith.”

“I know that,” Keith says defensively. _I’d be able to do that._

“L-look,” Lance says. “Y-you just g-g-gotta….” He unwraps his arms from around himself, reaching backwards to grab each of Keith’s wrists and pull them forward, effectively wrapping Keith’s arms around his chest.

Keith has to lean forward to fully wrap his arms around Lance, and he has to sit there for a second, cheek smashed against Lance’s back as he struggles against the heat covering his face. Lance’s jumpsuit is damp, and he’s still holding his arms over Keith’s.

Once he feels Lance shiver, though, Keith immediately scoots forward, getting into a better position, legs stretched out on either side of Lance as he presses his chest to Lance’s back. Keith feels some tension leak from himself as Lance relaxes back against him, a quiet sigh of contentment leaving his mouth. His hair--curlier than Keith is used to seeing, and smelling like soap--tickles Keith’s nose before he can pull his head back.

Now that he’s pressed up against Lance, Keith can really feel his form. He’s always known that Lance is skinny and lanky, but he wasn’t really prepared to feel the hard muscles of Lance’s chest under his palms, or Lance’s semi-raised spine against his own chest. Lance’s body is all sharp angles; his knees knock against Keith’s as tremors wrack his frame, and his sharp elbows poke at the inside of Keith’s arms, even through the jacket.

“W-wait till I t-tell the others you d-don’t know how t-to cuddle,” Lance says, a grin obvious in his voice. “Oh, m-man, they’re g-gonna flip.”

“I know how to cuddle!” Keith protests, embarrassment flooding down his limbs. “It’s just--been a while.” He’s lying through his teeth, of course, but he refuses to let Lance besmirch his good name like that.

“D-don’t worry,” Lance says, patting Keith’s forearm. “Your s-secret’s safe with m-me. Until I have s-someone else to tell.”

Keith gives a huff, resting his chin against Lance’s bony shoulder. “Aren’t we having a bonding moment right now? What happened to that?”

“We c-can still bond while I g-get blackmail,” Lance says.

They continue talking in soft, muted voices. Lance talks about traditions his family had for the colder months of the year. His voice is tender as he talks about it; since their return to Earth, his homesickness has improved a lot--but Keith can imagine it’s rearing its head again, since they don’t know when they’ll return.

Lance’s shivering dies down before his stuttering completely goes. Keith’s eyelids grow heavier and heavier, the warmth in his arms and the low vibrations of Lance’s voice under his hands lulling him. Soon, he’s leaning on Lance as much as Lance is leaning on him.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance asks quietly after they dissolve into silence for a few beats.

“Huh?” Keith replies, eyes slowly sliding open again. He’d been about to fall asleep.

“I know you’re not thrilled to be here with me,” Lance says quietly, “but...for what it’s worth, I’m glad I’m with you.”

A frown twists Keith’s mouth as he recalls what he’d said when they’d first landed. Oops. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

“But you said--”

“I didn’t mean it,” Keith interrupts. Halfway through a big yawn, he says, “I’m just worried.”

Lance is silent for a long moment before he says, a smile in his voice again, “Maybe you do worry more than I thought.”

“Mhm,” Keith hums, his eyes slipping shut again as his arms loosen around Lance’s chest.

“Hey, have I ever told you about that time I almost got arrested?” Lance asks. He doesn’t wait for a response as he launches into the story, which involves six pool noodles, Hunk, a horse mask, and a duck call.

Keith starts to lose track of the logistics of the story. He doesn’t feel himself fall asleep, but he knows he still hears Lance’s warm voice in his dreams.


	3. Five Quintants Left

Keith is warm when he slowly drifts closer to consciousness. He can’t quite remember the importance of that, but he decides not to worry about it as he analyzes _why_ he’s so warm. He’s curled up on his side, his head resting on top of something. He can hear a steady heartbeat, and the something--a chest, he identifies--rises and falls with even breaths. He catches a whiff of a sweet citrus smell, and the only explanation that he can come up with for it is that he’s using Lance as a pillow.

Keith tries to squeeze himself closer against Lance’s side, curling his chilled hands between their bodies. Lance’s arm tightens around Keith’s shoulders as he shifts, but once Keith stops moving, Lance’s arm relaxes again.

Keith knows he should probably untangle himself from Lance, should probably check on the state of the blizzard, should probably do a lot of things. But he keeps telling himself he’ll just absorb this feeling for a few more seconds, then get up--and he keeps doing that, extending the “few more seconds” into a few more minutes. He doesn’t know why, exactly, he can’t tear himself away. Is it because Lance is the only thing fighting back the nip in the air? That’s the most likely explanation, and it’s the one Keith decides to go with. He shies away from the alternatives.

After a few minutes, Keith steels himself. _Five more seconds,_ he tells himself. _Five more seconds, and then you’re getting up._

The first three seconds Keith spends memorizing the feeling of Lance’s arm around his shoulders. After that, he inhales deeply and glances up at Lance’s face. He feels his willpower crumble at the sight. Lance’s curled eyelashes brush against his cheeks, and his lips are slightly parted, soft breaths escaping him. There’s some drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, and Keith feels equal parts disgusted and endeared. Lance’s narrow face is totally relaxed, the soft curls of his hair resting against his forehead. Keith feels the urge to lift a hand, to trace Lance’s sharp jaw, to brush his hair back.

He pulls away instead, trying not to disturb Lance too much as he slowly pulls Lance’s arm over his head and sets it at his side. Once he’s free, Keith quickly stands up, suddenly feeling antsy. He tries not to think about how he just wants to wrap himself up in Lance’s arms again, already sick of the chill. He instead jerks around so he can look at the mouth of the cave, idly wondering how long he slept for.

The blizzard is still raging full-force. He wants to wonder why he didn’t hear the howling of the wind before, but when he glances at Lance--one arm over his stomach, the other at his side, head tilted towards where Keith had been--he knows why. At a loss for what else to do, Keith looks further into the back of the cave. It’s pitch-black, but seeing as they can’t explore outside, they might as well see what they can find further in.

He decides to try and let Lance sleep for as long as possible, and starts to pull his armor back on. That doesn’t last very long, though; once he’s halfway through, he hears Lance quietly groan.

“Good morning,” Keith says, glancing back at Lance as he snaps on his chestpiece. “I’m surprised you didn’t need me to wake you up again.”

Lance groans again, rolling over and pressing his face into his arm. “With how much you’re clunking around, it’s a wonder that I slept for this long.”

Keith huffs. “Get your armor on. I wanna explore more of this cave.”

“Why do _I_ have to get up for that?” Lance asks, propping his chin on a hand as he sleepily blinks at Keith.

“Because you’re coming with me?” Keith asks, as if it should be obvious. He turns to face Lance fully as he slips on his gauntlet. “Splitting up isn’t an option.”

“Thennn why can’t we just relax here?” Lance asks, swinging his feet in the air.

Keith stares flatly at Lance. “You’d be bored out of your mind within three minutes.”

Lance opens his mouth to refute it, then pauses. He frowns and grumbles, “Yeah, okay,” as he pushes himself to his feet.

Keith crosses his arms, but he feels something distinctly happy wiggle in his stomach when he sees Lance still in his jacket. “Do you want this back?” Lance asks, pinching the front of the jacket between two fingers as he makes his way to his own armor pile.

“No,” Keith says. “I’m already suited up. Just keep it for now.”

Lance shrugs, turning as he starts to pull his armor on. “So. What are we hoping to find in this cave?”

“Dunno,” Keith says. “Something to get us off this planet would be nice.”

“Sure,” Lance says. “Or an underground hot spring. Or something to eat! I’m starving.”

Keith huffs a little, suddenly focused intently on the cavernous feeling in his stomach and the grungy feeling of his hair. “Same here.”

Lance continues pulling on his armor in silence for just a second before he says, “I don’t suppose you grabbed my Bayard, did you?”

“Uh,” Keith says. “No. Sorry.”

Lance shrugs. “It’s no biggie,” he says. “I just hope we don’t run into any more Galra, ‘cause I’m not as good at hand-to-hand as you.” He gives a fake karate chop before he secures his gauntlet.

“Here,” Keith says, reaching down to pull his knife out of his boot. He walks closer to Lance before he offers the knife, hilt-first, to him.

“Whoa.” Lance stares down at the knife with wide eyes. “Isn’t this….”

Keith shrugs a shoulder. “Just take it,” he says, cheeks flushing a little. “It’s better than nothing.”

Lance nods, gently wrapping his hand around the hilt of the knife. He looks up at Keith, giving him a heartmeltingly sincere grin. “Thanks, Keith.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, cheeks growing warmer as he turns away. “You can use it, right?”

“Pff,” Lance scoffs, “can I use it? I’m a knife pro. I’m a sharpshooter _and_ a sharp cutter.”

Keith snorts, stepping over to their fire to stamp out the remains and spread them a little. “Sharp cutter,” he repeats. “Suuure.”

“It’s true!” Lance defends as Keith starts to lead the way further into the cave, snapping his helmet light on.

Keith keeps his eyes peeled wide open, sweeping the blue-white light from his helmet across every available surface. The cave remains large for most of the way, but eventually starts to narrow. After what can only be an hour or two of walking, he and Lance have to walk in a single file, with Keith up front. Keith has to duck his head a little to avoid hitting it on the ceiling.

“Man, I wish I was as small as Pidge now,” Lance says, his voice muffled and no longer echoey.

“I wish Pidge was _here_ ,” Keith grumbles. “They’d have gotten the Lions back up and running in no time.”

“Hunk, too,” Lance says. “He has snacks in Yellow, so we’d be eating like kings right now!”

“Coran would probably know where we are,” Keith continues, a strange feeling squeezing his heart.

“And Allura would’ve totally kicked the asses of those Galra we first tangoed with!” Lance says. “We might still be with our Lions if we had her.”

Keith takes in a shaky breath. _Shiro would’ve been able to keep us all calm._ He misses the others, and it’s only been a few quintants. He wonders when, exactly, they became so important to him. He’d left for the Blade of Marmora for months, and been fine; he’d traveled space for two years and missed them, sure, but this feels worse.

“Keith?” Lance says, voice small and unsure.

Keith’s heart twists further at the sound. “Yeah?”

“What if we...don’t go back?” Lance asks. “What if we can’t?”

“We _will_ ,” Keith says, stubborn even though he isn’t sure either. “There’s a way out of any mess.”

“We _just_ got back to Earth, it feels like,” Lance continues, as if he hadn’t heard Keith. “And here we are, vanished into space again. I don’t think Mamá will be able to handle it, Keith. I--” His voice breaks, and he falls silent.

“Hey,” Keith says, whirling around (as best he can in the small space) to face Lance. Their helmets bump together, and Lance takes a half step back. “Stop worrying. We’ll get back. No matter what. Okay? We may not have the others, but we have each other, and we’ll be able to do it. We make a good team, remember?”

Lance stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Okay,” he says with a quiet sniffle. He gives a light, sad laugh as he says, “Sorry, man--caves just get to me, you know?”

“Me too,” Keith says. Even with the light bleaching Lance’s face, Keith can tell his eyes are rimmed with red. He faces forward again and starts walking, eager to get them out of this situation ASAP. “There’s a light up ahead. We can check that out, then turn back around. Sound good?”

“Sounds _great_ ,” Lance breathes. “I’m way too much man for these tiny tunnels to handle!”

Keith snorts a laugh, but he doesn’t otherwise respond. They walk in silence down the tunnel, Keith’s frown growing as they get closer and closer. The light has a purple-ish tint to it, and purple is _never_ a good sign--not with all this Galra activity, anyway.

Keith tightens his grip around his Bayard once the tunnel opens up into another cavern. It reveals a mauve wall set into the stone, with a single Galra sentry bot outside the only door. Keith quickly ducks behind a large rock before the sentry can spot him, and Lance slams down next to him not a moment later.

“Plan?” Lance asks quietly, peeking up over the rock.

“Might as well investigate,” Keith murmurs back, peering around the corner. “It could be our way offworld.”

“What are the odds that this is the only sentry in the whole base?” Lance asks.

Keith huffs a little. “Slim to none. Let’s find out for sure.”

Keith uses one hand to launch himself over the rock and towards the Galra bot. As he runs towards it, he brings up his shield, the bot’s laser bullets bouncing harmlessly off of the hard light surface. Once Keith is within range, he ducks to the side, dropping his shield and skewering his Bayard up, spearing the bot through the chest. The light immediately fades from the bot, and Keith lets it slide off the blade and onto the rocky ground.

As he straightens and glances back, Keith sees Lance is already right behind him. “Good job,” Lance says, a lazy grin on his face. “Maybe we can call you Deputy Sharp Cutter.”

Keith shakes his head, turning back to the door to hide his grin. “That’s an awful title.”

Lance sniffs in offense. “Better than no title at all!”

“I _have_ a title,” Keith says, pressing his hand to the pad next to the door, watching it slide open to reveal a pitch-black room.

“Black Paladin does _not_ count,” Lance mutters as they step into the room. “And neither does Defender of the Universe.”

Keith doesn’t respond, too busy sweeping the light over the room. There are dim purple accent lights lining the perimeter, of course, but they do little to reveal the layout of the room--which is completely empty. Discounting the one they entered through, there are two doors in the room.

“So...are we splitting up?” Lance asks.

“No,” Keith says immediately, a surge of protectiveness flooding his chest as he glances back at Lance, grip tight around the hilt of the knife. “They may have more of those teleporting disks. We can’t afford to get stuck on different planets, too.”

“Then are we going through door number one, or door number two?” Lance asks.

Keith chews on his bottom lip, glancing between both doors before he heads for the one on the left. “Door number one, I guess.”

Through the door is a short hallway, as lit up as the front room had been--that is to say, not very much. It allows Keith to easily see the red glow of the sentry bot, though, and he has his shield up, pounding down the hallway, before the bot even has its gun up. It manages to fire a few shots--pinging off of Keith’s shield--before Keith is within range, slicing his Bayard through its chest.

“I feel like I should ask you to leave some for me,” Lance says as he follows Keith’s path, “but honestly, watching is just as fun.”

Keith huffs a little, feeling his cheeks warm as he faces the door to his left. He doesn’t know how to respond--it was a compliment, right?--so he doesn’t. He can’t fight the half-smile off of his face, though, as he focuses on the room before him, sweeping his light over everything as he steps inside.

It looks like a small kitchen; there’s an island counter, counters shoved against walls, what appears to be a cooling unit, dispensers for the ever-useful food goo, and sanitation machines. Keith’s stomach gives an angry growl at the sight.

“Snack break,” Lance says immediately. “Keith, please. I’m _starving_.”

Keith gnaws on his lower lip as Lance makes his way towards the food goo dispensers. “There might still be sentries,” he says unsurely. “And there might not even be food.”

“Who cares about the stupid bots?” Lance asks, pulling a bowl out of a drawer. “You cut through ‘em like butter.” He pulls a nozzle out of the wall, pointing it down at the bowl before he squeezes the trigger. It takes a moment, but Keith can see the gleam of indigo-colored food goo sliding into the bowl. He can already imagine Lance’s victorious grin. “And there _is_ goo.”

Keith hesitates before he huffs, closing the door again. “ _Fine_ ,” he says. “Only because we need our strength.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Lance says, sliding the full bowl onto the counter and pulling out another bowl to fill. “Eat your goo, Kogane.”

Keith snorts, sitting on one of the barstools--facing _towards_ the door, of course--as he pulls the bowl closer to him. “This is weird.”

“What is?” Lance asks, taking the stool next to Keith. “Eating goo in the dark with your favorite Paladin?”

“Can you stop saying goo?” Keith asks, trying to make his voice annoyed despite the smile pricking at his face. “It’s such a gross word.” He spoons some of the substance in question into his mouth, and immediately twists his face. Galra food goo has always been a lot more sour than the Altean variety, but at least it’s safe to eat.

“Well, that’s what it is!” Lance defends. “Goo!” There’s a pause, probably as he quickly inhales more goo, before he says, “You didn’t say I’m not your favorite Paladin.” His face is still cast in shadow, but Keith can hear the shit-eating grin.

Keith huffs, heat filling his cheeks as he instinctively ducks his head. “Eat your goo, McClain.”

“Awww, Mullet!” Lance coos. “I’m touched! I’ll only brag a _little_ when we get back home.”

“I’ll tell Red to drop you myself if any of the others ever hear about this,” Keith threatens, using a thumb to wipe some goo off the corner of his mouth.

“What’s the fun in being the favorite if I can’t rub it in the others’ faces?” Lance pouts. “Do they get goo dates, too?”

“I change my mind,” Keith says, face ablaze. “Pidge is my favorite.” He scoops the rest of the goo into his mouth (trying not to choke on goo-blocked laughter when Lance squawks indignantly) before he stands, his bowl clattering to the counter. “Are you done?”

Lance sighs, sliding out of his own barstool. “Fiiine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Keith doesn’t respond before he steps out of the room, Bayard materializing in his hand again. There’s only one other doorway, and he’s relieved to see no sentry bot inside the room. It seems to be a storage room, with several crates thrown haphazardly inside. When Keith opens one, he’s surprised to see lots of big, furry coats.

“I didn’t think the Galra got cold,” Lance mutters, pulling one out of the crate, his nose wrinkled as he holds it up. It’s taller than he is. “Shouldn’t they have higher-tech stuff for warmth?”

Keith shrugs a shoulder, moving to open another crate. It’s full of explosives, and he quickly scoots away from it. “Would you consider bombs high-tech enough?”

“Only sometimes,” Lance says. “Should we take these jackets? If we’re gonna be here for a while, we’ll wanna be warm.”

Keith hesitates before he shakes his head. “We’ll come back for them,” he says. “Right now, they’ll just limit our movements.”

Lance nods, dropping the heavy coat back into the crate. “Sounds good. Let’s go see what’s behind door number two, then.”

They quickly make their way back to the entry room without encountering more bots. Either their patrol protocols are bad, or the Galra really don’t have much to hide here. Keith opens door number two carefully, standing to the side and barely peering inside.

It’s a single room. There isn’t even a sentry bot in it; as Keith steps in, he can see why. It’s basically empty. There’s only a lone console standing in front of the door, obscuring a slightly-raised platform. The room is completely dark, lacking even the purple accent lights that the other rooms have.

“Weird,” Lance says, stepping up on the platform and jumping on his toes a little. “Why’s it all dark?”

“Maybe it’s a project they gave up on?” Keith suggests, stepping up to the console and glancing over it. “We should figure out what it’s supposed to do.”

“Probably somethin’ evil,” Lance says, leaning his hands against the console. “There’s nothing useful here, though. Why would there be sentry bots?”

“I don’t know,” Keith mutters, starting to tap away at the console. It hums to life, accent lights igniting around the room. “Waiting for us, maybe?”

“The Galra left _two_ sentry bots to take on Paladins of Voltron,” Lance deadpans. “I’d be insulted if that was true. I’m worth at _least_ five.”

“Mhm,” Keith mutters, distracted, as he peers at the console before him. He can understand a lot more Galra than he used to be able to, thanks to his time with his mother, but he still operates on mostly instinct with these kinds of things.

It seems to work, though, because there’s a quiet humming sound. Keith’s hands still as he looks around the room. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Lance asks, tilting his head to the side. They stand in silence for a moment before Lance says, “That...sounds like something is working.”

Keith nods. His gaze is drawn to the platform that Lance is standing on, which has started to glow azure light. “Lance--the platform.”

“Uh,” Lance says, backing up and staring down at the light under his feet. “Should I get off?”

Keith squints his eyes at the light--it’s already painful to look at. There’s no time to think, to weigh the pros and cons. There’s something familiar about the light, though, and that’s why Keith steps up on the platform next to Lance.

“Um,” Lance says, taking a small step back. “For the record, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Noted,” Keith says, looking up at Lance. He intends to continue, but he’s rendered speechless for a moment. The sapphire light under their feet is harsh and bright, but it turns Lance’s eyes into a shimmering sea of cobalt, endless and vast and a whole lot of other words that make Keith blush with the cheesiness. It doesn’t help that they’re only a few inches away.

Before he can recover, the light pulses, forcing Keith to close his eyes against it. Before the light dies down, Keith feels the wind knocked out of him. His knees buckle, and he nearly falls--until he shoots out a hand, tightly gripping Lance’s arm. The light starts to fade then, and Keith opens his eyes, blinking the blackness away from his vision.

“What the--?!” a foreign voice shouts.

Keith’s mind feels like it’s swimming through peanut butter, but he tries to focus. He hears the whine of a Galra gun powering up--on the other side of Lance. Keith works on instinct, his only thought to protect as he shoves Lance behind him, the crimson flash of a laser bullet suddenly readily visible.

The bullet hits Keith’s left shoulder, if the sudden burning, searing pain is anything to judge by. He inhales sharply, lifting a hand to squeeze the wound as Lance jumps forward, slicing the end off the Galra’s rifle, then shoving the knife up under their armor. They let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a yelp before they crumple to the floor, lifeless.

Lance whirls around on Keith, eyes wide. “Are you okay?! What were you thinking? Why didn’t you use your shield?”

Keith shakes his head, looking around the room with bleary eyes, his mind swimming in dizzy circles. “Give--gimme a sec,” he says, voice rough. The room appears to be a mirror image of the one they’d been in earlier, though obviously different; it’s fully lit. Keith stumbles over to lean against the console, pulling his hand away to glance at the crimson smears on the palm of his glove. His eyelids feel like they each weigh a thousand pounds.

“Keith?” Lance asks gently, suddenly next to him, a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? I mean--other than, you know, the getting shot thing.”

Keith breathes deeply for a moment, trying to get a grip. Once his head stops spinning, he finally answers, “Nothing. Sorry--I’m fine. I was just a little dizzy.”

“Dizzy?!” Lance asks, voice cracking on the high note. “Doesn’t that mean you’re losing too much blood? Or is that lightheaded? Or are they the same thing? Or--”

“I _just_ got shot, Lance,” Keith snorts, pushing off from the console. “I’m fine on blood. Let’s just see if we can find any bandages.”

Lance visibly takes a deep breath before he nods. “Okay,” he says. “But I’m leading now.” At Keith’s frown, he rushes to add, “You’re hurt, and I don’t want you to get more hurt. Okay?”

“You still only have a knife,” Keith says. “And you said it yourself: you’re not as good at close-range as I am.”

“Then swap with me,” Lance says. “Give me your Bayard, and I won’t be so useless.” He offers Keith’s knife, hilt-first, to him.

Keith blinks down at the knife. “Oh.” Why hadn’t he done that in the first place? It hadn’t occurred to him, and he’d been so willing to hand over his most prized possession to Lance. Maybe he’d been so focused on protecting Lance that he forgot that giving Lance a Bayard would be more useful? But then why hadn’t Lance brought it up sooner?

“Unless you have a better idea…?” Lance asks, and it’s then that Keith realizes he’s been staring at the knife in silence. “I mean, I know giving me this knife probably meant a lot, but I’m just not the best--”

“No,” Keith interrupts, jumping to action as his Bayard materializes in his hand. “Um, good idea, Lance.” He quickly trades weapons with Lance, watching as the Bayard elongates into a gun.

“Thanks,” Lance says, glancing at Keith’s shoulder before turning to the door. “Let’s go.”

This outpost is much larger than the one that they’d been in before, as evidenced when Lance opens the door to reveal a long hallway with about six or seven other doors. There are also many more guards--actual flesh-and-blood Galrans with tons of sentry bots. Keith and Lance make their way through carefully and slowly, unwilling to trip any alarms. They discover several storage rooms, what seems to be a few dormitories, a kitchen, and an infirmary. Lance makes sure to force Keith into a chair as quickly as he can so he can clean and dress Keith’s wound (while, thankfully, not noticing Keith’s fiery cheeks or nervous stuttering). The final room they stumble into appears to be a central command room, with a large console and screen.

“That looks important,” Lance says as Keith makes his way to the console. “See if you can find a map of this place--I _think_ we cleared it out, but I wanna be sure.”

Keith nods, already tapping at the console. It’s relatively easy to navigate to a map, which reveals that the base is basically just the large compound they’ve cleaned out, along with….

“There’s a hangar,” Keith says. “Outside, a little ways to the south. It might have ships we can use to get offworld.”

“That’s great!” Lance says. “Let’s go hop in one, then. No use in waiting.”

“No,” Keith says, eyes still scanning the map. “It’s still blizzarding--you saw the windows. We’d get turned around and lost in two seconds.” He moves past the blueprint, looking for something else that may help--messages or coordinates or….

“Ugh,” Lance says, leaning next to Keith, against the console. “I _hate_ waiting. Do you think there’s some kind of...blizzard-stopper? Or something?”

Keith huffs a laugh. “I wish,” he says. He pauses, squinting at a message. “Wait….”

“What?” Lance asks, twisting his neck to look up at the screen. “What is it?”

“Plans,” Keith says. “It says, uhh, ‘The attack is ready to be initiated. As soon as the ball begins, we will assault with our full might. The weapons will be prepared by then.’”

“That...sounds not great,” Lance says. “Very not great.”

“Yeah,” Keith says roughly. “They _have_ to mean Allura and Coran’s ball. We have to warn them.”

“Great,” Lance deadpans. “So we’re going out in this blizzard to hitch a ride?”

“No,” Keith says. “We have time before it. We just have to hope the Galra don’t attack before then.”

“Well, if they’re waiting on a secret weapon, they probably won’t,” Lance replies. “What do you think it is?”

Keith shakes his head, pushing off from the console. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think you can get a message out to the Castle?” Lance asks, suddenly staring at the screen with wide eyes.

Keith frowns, glancing unsurely at the console under his hands. “Uh...I can try,” he says. “It might not make any sense, though. I’d have to write it in Galran.”

“So?” Lance asks. “Krolia can translate.”

Keith huffs. “ _I_ have to write it,” he repeats. “In _Galran_. I’m a novice at best.”

“Oh, come on,” Lance says. “I’m sure you’re great at it. It’s, like, in your blood! Besides, Pidge already has a good grasp of it, and they’re full human. Try it!”

Keith shakes his head, not responding as he starts to slowly, slowly type out a message. He gnaws on his bottom lip as he does so, focused intently on the letters. He can only form simple words, and he hopes it gets the point across.

“There,” Keith says, looking up at the message. “‘Attack coming in five quintants. Keith.’”

Lance snorts. “Please tell me you don’t write love letters, too.”

Keith huffs, glaring at Lance. “Whatever. It does the job. Now I just need to input the Castle’s coordinates….” He quickly types in the last place the Castle had been stationed before he sends off the message. “There. We can only hope they--” He cuts off as the screen flashes red, an angry beep sounding.

“What was that?” Lance asks quickly.

“Uh,” Keith says, a headache starting to form as he muddles through the alert, “message not sent due to...something weather conditions.” He groans. “You’d think a base on a _snow planet_ would be prepared for a little blizzard.”

Lance sighs. “At least we tried,” he says. “We just have to get back as soon as possible now. Which was the plan anyway, right?”

“Right,” Keith huffs, reaching up to rub at his temples, trying to will his anger away. “Right. Okay. Whatever. Let’s just--go get some rest, and when we wake up, try again. Hopefully the blizzard will die down by then, and we can get off this quiznaking planet.”

“Hey, good optimism!” Lance says. “I knew you had it in you.” He pauses, then, with a blink. “Wait--wake up? We’re not sleeping here, right?”

“What else would we do?” Keith asks, glancing at Lance as he makes his way to the hallway. “There are beds, I’m exhausted, and I don’t have the patience to actually _wait_ for this shitstorm to end.”

“But Galra sleep in these beds,” Lance whines, shuffling reluctantly behind Keith. “That’s so _gross_. What if they have space lice or something?”

“Then don’t sleep in a bed,” Keith says with a shrug, walking down the hall. “Unless you’d rather sit around an empty Galra base by yourself.”

“No,” Lance grumbles, a pout heavy in his voice. “I just liked the cave better. It wasn’t as dark and evil.”

“I liked the cave better too,” Keith says. “But I don’t wanna go through that transporter again. I don’t trust it.”

“I don’t either,” Lance says. “Why do you think it was so dark in the other base? It was operational, wasn’t it?”

Keith shrugs again. “Maybe they just gave up on that outpost for whatever reason,” he says. “There _were_ only bots there.”

“I guess,” Lance says, following Keith into the first dormitory they come across. “But something still doesn’t feel right. Where are the Galra getting all this teleportation tech suddenly? First the wormhole, then the disks, now this?”

“I don’t know,” Keith says with a shrug as he peers around the room. There are three sets of bunk beds, each with small chests at the foot of them. He claims the bottom bunk farthest from the door by standing near it, pulling off the bulkiest pieces of his armor and storing them in the (surprisingly empty) chest at the foot of the bed.

“This is so weird,” Lance mutters, pulling off his own armor at the bed next to Keith’s. “I feel like a Galra soldier now. What do you think they talk about in here?”

“Normal Galra stuff,” Keith replies. “Who’s the best bet for the next emperor. The good ol’ days before all this uprising stuff started. Home.”

Lance hums quietly, and they continue taking off their armor quietly. It’s a little chilly in the base, but the thin blanket on the hard mattress is enough to take the edge off of it. They’re both lying in their respective beds, the lights off, before either of them break the silence.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance asks, his voice quiet and a touch distant.

“Yeah?”

“Did you really forget me?” Keith stays silent, wondering what Lance is talking about, before Lance explains. “When we first found Shiro, before we left Earth the first time. You didn’t remember me.”

“Oh,” Keith says, his cheeks already heating up. He remembers that night clearly--how could he forget it? His life changed forever then. But he _especially_ remembers how flustered he’d been when Lance had introduced himself as, well, Lance. Keith had been _sure_ his name was something else, and didn’t want to admit to being so dumb in front of two near-perfect strangers and Lance-not-Taylor. “I, uh, I knew who you were.”

“Really?” Lance asks, his voice a little more animated. “Then why’d you say you didn’t remember me?”

“...Uhh,” Keith says, trying to think of a tactful way to word this that doesn’t make him seem like a fool. “I didn’t think your name was Lance.”

“What?” Lance asks. “What else could it be?”

Keith stays silent. _Please don’t make me admit it._

“Keith?”

Keith sighs. Fine. “You know how you always said people call you ‘the Tailor’?”

“Oh my God,” Lance says, voice already delighted. “You thought my name was Taylor?”

Keith sighs again, loudly, as he lifts his hands to cover his burning face. “Please don’t bring it up ever again.”

“Can I ask you to call me Taylor anyway?” Lance says, laughter at the edge of his voice. “I know it’s been a year or two now but--”

“No.”

“Aww, Keith, c’mon!” Lance finally laughs. “This is the best moment of my life! I had Keith ‘best pilot’ Kogane calling _me_ the Tailor!”

“Can we please go to sleep now?” Keith asks, nearly begging. “I think that’s a better idea than whatever _this_ is.”

Lance keeps snickering. “Fine, but _only_ because you just gave me the best gift of all time. Seriously. Birthday trip to Disneyworld when I was twelve? Blown out of the water.”

Keith huffs a sigh, but doesn’t otherwise respond. He can still hear Lance’s snickers for a while afterwards, but they eventually die down.

Once Keith is just about to drift off to sleep, though, Lance murmurs, “Hey, Keith?”

“Mm?” Keith hums, not having the energy to actually move his mouth--or to get mad at Lance tugging him away from sleep again.

“I...remember the bonding moment,” Lance admits, his voice somehow softer than it’d been before. “After we first fought Sendak? I know I said I didn’t, but….”

At that, Keith can’t keep a small smile from curving his mouth. It takes him a few moments to remember to respond, but he can only muster a quiet, “Good.” Lance doesn’t reply, which means he’s already fallen asleep.

Keith isn’t very far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So season seven came out. I haven't given up on this fic, though! Quite the contrary--it's now a fic where everything turned out right instead, haha. Also set after season 8 now, I guess? Or maybe it's just a full-blown AU now, who knows? Not me. 
> 
> But yes! I'm going to work to finish this fic, no matter how long it takes me. I won't abandon my boys!


End file.
